


trust, caution

by tashii



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23938804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tashii/pseuds/tashii
Summary: While working to bring down Klaus' rule from within, Bonnie gets entangled with Elijah, who suspects her of being a spy. The two of them are soon caught between (mis)trust, suspicion and lust. (Inspired by Ang Lee's "Lust, Caution")
Relationships: Bonnie Bennett/Elijah Mikaelson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	trust, caution

_I understand / what love does not understand. I forgive / what love would never have forgiven._ \- Wislwawa Szymborska

_Eros is an enemy. Its bitterness must be the taste of enmity. That would be hate._ \- Anne Carson

_We are captives, even if our wheat grows over the fences/ and swallows rise from our broken chains./ We are captives of what we love, what we desire, and what we are._ \- Mahmoud Darwish

* * *

When the news reaches Bonnie she knows, though she doesn't dare tell her co-conspirators, that their best laid plans teeter on the brink of ruin.

The scrappy underground alliance of witches and disaffected vampires led by Marcel had been working to unseat Klaus from the seat of power in New Orleans for years, with questionable success. While their numbers dwindled, Klaus' hold over the vampires, witches and werewolves of the city only grew stronger. For months, Bonnie had been infiltrating Klaus' ranks, scavenging for any information that might lend them an advantage, ingratiating herself into the Hybrid King's inner circle.

She hears the rumor at a gathering hosted by that circle, and her blood turns to ice, like a ghost breathed down her neck.

Elijah Mikaelson had returned to New Orleans, to help his brother rule.

* * *

They feel the shadow of Elijah's return almost instantly. Two of their cells are discovered, the conspirators tortured and their decapitated remains left to decorate the streets of the Quarter where anyone who still remained loyal to Marcel might see the inevitable conclusion of such devotion.

Genevieve, the leader of the coven Bonnie had infiltrated, announces coyly over their daily meal that their services are called upon.

She leads them to the Mikaelson compound, which in the years of Klaus' ascension had been buttressed with more walls and fierce gargoyles that perched on every corner, looking ready to sweep down on trespassers. Genevieve leads them by a side entrance to a small, dimly lit room where three vampires hang from the ceiling by their wrists, their bodies burning from vervain, their blood pooled and caked on the floor.

Bonnie covers her mouth against the stench, and sees him - his shirtsleeves rolled up, forearms red as a butcher's. His eyes land on her, showing surprise, suspicion and something else - a cool assessment.

Elijah wipes his hands on a towel and gestures to the dangling bodies. "Ladies, if you would."

Genevieve and the others set to desiccating the vampires with practiced ease. Bonnie feels his gaze on her, waiting, watching. The three vampires are faintly recognizable - she shared beer with them a few months ago, in Marcel's safehouse. They'd toasted the end of the Mikaelson reign. The memory of that childish hope torments her as she stands before their dangling bodies. The one in the middle, Frederick, twitches at her approach. If he recognizes her, in his dazed and tortured state, he might give her away, call to her in his misery. Then, everything would truly be lost.

She raises a hand and fills his head with blinding pain, bursting each vessel in his brain, stopping only when his eyes, unable to contain more pressure, burst from their sockets to spatter across her face and neck.

She looks for Elijah but he's already slipped out of the room, the door closed behind him. The bile of horror rises in her throat, threatening to spill from her lips. That too would endanger her position. She swallows down her vomit, her hatred, everything she can't afford.

* * *

"Does he suspect you?"

"Of course he suspects me," Bonnie says. "I almost killed him and Klaus, once upon a time." The bravado of her adolescent years fills her with bitter longing. She should have acted decisively, when she still had the power to. But the thought of losing her friends by snuffing out Klaus and Elijah's sirelines had stayed her hand.

Stefan runs a hand through his hair. He'd defected from Klaus' ranks and joined Marcel's cause a few years ago. "Fuck, Bonnie. I don't know - convincing Klaus you've had a change of heart is one thing. But -,"

"This is Elijah," Bonnie says, his name sinking heavy into her bones. " _You'll die," he'd said to her, bent over his waning brother's body, and she'd threatened to follow through anyway. She regretted that now, giving him her measure, revealing what lengths she was willing to go._

Klaus was paranoid, but emotional. When she'd joined his ranks, her story of finally repudiating her friends, of wanting to partake in something greater, to explore her full powers, had not only flattered his ego, but struck a chord. He fancied himself a persecuted creature, like her. Elijah was a different kind of monster, with whom she had nothing in common except the thing that damned and defined them both: she, like him, would do anything to win her cause.

"What should we do?" Bonnie asks, her food untouched.

"Nothing," Marcel says, from the head of the table. "You continue as planned. Do whatever it takes to convince Elijah your loyalties are with Klaus." His mouth tightens. He too has personal knowledge of Elijah's proclivities. Stefan sits unhappily in his chair and doesn't meet Bonnie's eyes.

The martyr, the lamb, the silent weapon - she wears these roles like a second skin.

* * *

Green damask flowers, stitched into unforgiving black silk, emit a reptilian gleam when she moves. Witches who served the Mikaelsons adorned themselves in nocturnal colors - dark jewel tones, slippery black, cold silver. Bonnie checks her reflection, touches up her ruby lipstick, flutters her eyelashes. A horrifying serenity masks her inner turmoil.

Inside the dinner party to celebrate Elijah's return, she slips between the crowd, smiling, ears peeled, senses alert. She hopes to avoid him, but isn't that lucky. She's never been that lucky.

"Miss Bennett," he says, materializing before her with the vampire's silken grace. She suppressed a shudder. "Forgive me for not calling on you," he said. "I've been quite busy."

She reached for a smile and then, afraid of seeming insincerely obsequious, adopted a more demure look. "What's to forgive? Klaus can't run this city by himself."

He gives a look of surprise, then steps closer. "I commend your work the other day. You've a surprising touch for brutality." His eyes flick down her silk-encased body, then return to her face, mouth twitching slightly. "Well, perhaps not entirely surprising."

His gaze makes her skin feel trapped in a net. Once, she had broken his brother's bones. Once, he had looked on. She smiles softly, meeting his eyes. "I guess the Mikaelsons bring it out of me."

His eyes gleam, and she fears she's revealed herself. But they only look, and keep looking. She was a teenager when they first crossed paths, stubborn and reckless and spoiling for heroism. She's only twenty five now. Her body in the tight silk is more inviting, less careless than it once was. Teenage Bonnie didn't understand how witches like Greta could lie down with Klaus, or how vampires could desire her kind. New Orleans had disabused her of such innocence. Whatever shame or uncertainty Elijah means to invoke with his scrutiny, she won't concede.

Bonnie lets him look.

* * *

"He's asked me to have dinner with him."

Marcel raises an eyebrow. "Did you say yes?"

"What do you think?" Bonnie stares at him, ridiculing such a question. Her fingers twitch against the arm of her chair. She waits for them to detail her escape plan, her safe passage out of the city. Instead, Marcel exchanges a heavy, unreadable look with Stefan. Sophie Devereaux, who hated the Mikaelsons even more than Bonnie did, looks slightly ill.

"What?" Bonnie asks. "He's planning to interrogate me, then kill me. It's over, I have to get out or we're all in danger." Unspoken things darken the air. If this were Klaus, she wouldn't waver so easily. She's confident she can hold her own against the hybrid. But Elijah would pull things out of her she didn't want to think about. And after he was done, there would be nothing left - no cause, no underground resistance, no hope, no Bonnie Bennett.

Marcel leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. In the candlelight, his handsome face is troubled.

"Have dinner with him," Marcel says, shooting Stefan a silencing look. "And report back what you learn."

There's a clatter as Sophie stands, upsetting her chair. She pours herself a glass of whiskey and downs it in a furious gulp. Her eyes are hard, haunted.

"Are you insane?" Bonnie says. "He knows I'm with the resistance, and he's going to use that against you, all of you." But a terrible, sinuous thought, nursed on the uncomfortable silences between their words, is taking shape in the back of her mind.

"We can't be certain what he knows," Marcel says steadily. "It's your job to find out. For all we know, he just wants an evening with a pretty lady." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. Sophie makes a sound of disgust and strides from the room. Stefan looks pained, studying her with concern.

Bonnie wipes her sweaty palms on the sides of her skirt. "I'm out of my depth here." Her voice quavers a little.

"Bonnie," Marcel kneels, warm brown hands clasping hers. "That's exactly why you're perfect for the job."

* * *

The dining room is ablaze with candles and the perfume of calla lilies. Beneath a cut glass chandelier, at a table laid intimately for two, Elijah awaits her like a sentinel.

He's dressed in a dark blue suit and a white shirt with the collar popped open. He greets her with a friendly smile.

"Miss Bennett. I wasn't sure you'd come."

"I wasn't sure what the dress code was," she says, sitting in the chair he pulls out for her. The violet satin dress skims her body but leaves even more to the imagination.

"You look lovely," he says, taking a seat across from her.

"To be honest, I was a little surprised you invited me," Bonnie says. "Genevieve is miffed she doesn't get a private audience with Elijah Mikaelson."

"Tell me about Genevieve, and the coven."

Bonnie shrugs. "Nothing much to tell. I've never been part of a coven before, so I'm learning every day. It's not easy, but it's nice to have sister witches."

"Yes I do recall you were short of those in Mystic Falls," he says, with a trace of a smile.

"I was short of a lot of things there," she says. A servant uncorks the wine bottle between them and fills their glasses.

Elijah leans back in his chair, watching her in his careful way. "Tell me."

"Things fell apart after high school, as you can imagine. Tyler and Caroline left the country. Damon took the Cure. Last I heard he and Elena were in Seattle. Jeremy lives in New York and is dating someone in his MFA program. I wanted to reconnect with my cousin Lucy, but turns out she died while I was graduating high school, and no one told me." It's all true, including the twinge of grief in her throat as she recounts those final years in her hometown. On instinct, she offers up her pain as proof of her sincerity.

"And then you found your way here, to New Orleans," he says, with an unreadable look. "How fortunate for us."

"I'm the fortunate one," Bonnie says with a smile.

Their meal is served, and the conversation turns to other subjects. He speaks about his travels to Moscow and Budapest, how much or how little each city has changed since the last time he was there nearly a hundred years ago. Bonnie tells him of the spells she's trying to master, her favorite gumbo spot, dancing in the Quarter. On the surface, their words are light and warm. Underneath, she senses the deadly current of suspicion and evasion. He's interrogating her, but not with poison or torture. He's a witty and charming conversationalist, and has ordered an exquisite five course meal. Her taste buds thrill to the rich, subtle flavors, and the wine warms her face. She's both triumphant and fearful when, during certain intervals, his eyes linger on the curve of her neck or the line of her bare arm. She can't tell if he desires her, or desires to unmask her. Inside that opacity, she's trapped like a bird in a jewelled cage.

As the meal draws to a close, he interrupts her silent relief by asking her to dance.

They sway to a husky French ballad. She understands half the words. She hasn't danced with a man in ages, not since the farewell date with Jeremy before he jetted off to New York. They had held each other in the dim light of the Mystic Grille, knowing that despite their best efforts, their relationship was finished. There's no such sad, yet solid certainty in dancing with Elijah. The air is electric with all the things they can't say.

He smells like anise, and expensive aftershave. He holds her firmly, but is light on his feet.

"My brother believes Stefan Salvatore is still in the city," he says, pulling her towards him. "We have word that he's working with Marcel," Elijah's voice is a caress, whispering questions like endearments. "Surprising, don't you think?"

She shrugs. "Stefan's always looking for someone to motivate him. First it was Elena, then it was Klaus, and now you tell me it's Marcel."

He smiles, turning her around and drawing her into his chest. She can't tell if he believed her contempt for the Salvatores. It's only half a lie. Then, his other hand tugs her chignon, pulling out the hairpins she'd wrestled with for hours. He lays the mass of curls softly on her shoulder. Her heart races, but she's overcome with a chilling serenity. This too is an interrogation, and she answers by turning around, hair undone, with a question of her own.

"Why did you ask me to dinner?"

He seizes her chin, pulling her mouth to his. His hands tangle in her hair as he acquaints himself with the taste of her mouth. Bonnie returns his kiss, yielding to avoid yielding. It's not difficult to get swept up in his embrace, to cling to the lapels of his coat. Her small hum of pleasure is unforced. She now understands Sophie's disgust, Stefan's wariness, why Marcel couldn't meet her eyes. She's afraid of what she'll see if she looks in the mirror tomorrow.

She wraps her arms around Elijah's neck and kisses him with abandon.

* * *

Her father calls her once a month. She tells him about her classes at Tulane, how she's balancing coursework with her part-time job as a barista, how she's exploring the city, how she's happy she came here. Her father believes her, partakes in the fantasy. "I love you, honey. Take care now." Sometimes she thinks about shattering their shared illusion with truth. _Dad, I'm in danger, but it doesn't faze me. I'm doing something important, I think. Trying to save a piece of the world. I used to think I could live in both - my world and yours. But this world wants more of me, everyday. More and more, and more than I thought I could give. Soon I won't be able to return. You'll look at me and see a ghost._

"Love you too, Dad."

* * *

She was supposed to go for a walk in the Quarter that afternoon but Elijah invites her to meet with him at an address on the bayou. Before departing, she writes down every scrap of information she's managed to obtain in the past few weeks about the inner workings of her coven and the Mikaelson compound. She was waiting to relay the information in person when she next met with Marcel and Stefan, but just in case something happens -

Bonnie gets dressed. Chooses a slim, scarlet linen dress and sandals. She puts her hair up, pin after pin after pin.

Outside, she dallies briefly on a street corner. A vampire brushes past, picking up the envelope that falls from her fingers.

She proceeds to her destination.

* * *

The house rests at the edge of the bayou, its walls yellow with genteel decay. She enters and surveys the small living room with its piano and Queen Anne chairs, then proceeds upstairs. There are photographs on the wall but the faces are distant, blurred, like looking at them through a film of rain.

There's a single bedroom with a picture window through which the water, screened by curtains of spanish moss, winks like a woman's smile. She stands there, absently smoothing the flyaway curls the humidity has teased out. She has a curious feeling of trepidation mixed with relief.

Another figure grows visible in the glass. Elijah, standing in a corner of the room, watching her silently.

She doesn't turn. He doesn't move. The quiet grows unbearable and she trembles, like an insect caught on a spider web. He's waiting for her to act, to recoil or lash out. Reveal herself and everyone she's in league with. Her skin, her spine, her mouth, her nose, her eyes, her ass, her legs, the sweat beading on the nape of her neck - nothing is safe from scrutiny, anything might harbor her true motives.

Bonnie raises her arms, touches the back of her head. He moves in the shadows. She pulls out her hairpins one by one, sways her head to let the hair free.

Their eyes meet in the glass.

He's on her before she can breathe. Despite herself, she yelps in fear. He seizes her hair, holding her prisoner while his hands pull and rip her dress. The dizzy confusion between his lust to uncover her allegiances, and his lust for her body, descends again. Only this time, everything is happening fast and breathless. Wariness mixes with desire, a potent cocktail in her veins. His pulls her underwear apart and cups her sex. She's dragged into a wild and terrifying country with only instinct as her guide. Instinct, and how her body responds to his. She rubs herself against him. Her semi-naked breasts press against cool glass. He enters her with unapologetic violence. Disarrayed, feverish and wet, Bonnie surrenders to the inexorable.

* * *

She awakes slowly, marooned across the bed like on a distant shore. Remnants of her dress still cling to her aching body. Cool air brushes her sex, makes her skin tingle. He had taken her twice more and each time they'd lost and regained their bearings towards themselves and each other.

Elijah, who had been watching her from a chair nearby, runs a finger down her cheek. His face is a mixture of pity, confusion and wonder. He's in his shirtsleeves, having draped his jacket over her.

They stay in silence until night falls and her eyes drift close again.

She senses she's passed the first of many tests, that each one would wring a terrible cost.

* * *

Genevieve and the others barely mask their envy as her things are packed, wrapped and transported to the small house on the bayou that's to be her new residence.

Being consort to a high-ranking member of Klaus' circle is an ambition shared by many witches in the Mikaelson's employ. Being chosen by a Mikaelson himself is a dream, promising limitless glory and power.

Bonnie indulges their little comments and curiosities, shooting back giggles and jabs when the questions veer too intimate. She watches the movers remove each item of clothing from her closet and a numbness grips her body. Moving her into that house isn't a mark of adoration. Whatever intimacies they share within those private walls will only tighten the net around her.

He wants to keep her close. It is not a lover's gesture.

* * *

She doesn't see him for a week. She busies herself with her Grimoire to keep her troubled thoughts at bay. Had Marcel received her message? Or had someone intercepted it? Were they even now dragging her compatriots out of hiding and hanging them by their wrists, to bleed endless gouts of blood until Elijah was satisfied? She hasn't grown up with them, nor shared a hometown with them, but she feels bound to them by a code more painful than youthful bonds. Like an iron rod wedged into her back it pushes her onward, step by aching step. What would she do if they were taken? Where would she go? What living soul could offer a refuge the Mikaelsons couldn't raze to the ground to find her? These and other questions haunt her day and night, rob her sleep and make her jump at the slightest sound.

It's a humid September afternoon when he finally comes to her.

"Where were you?" she asks. Her voice trembles of its own accord. The sight of him fills her with angry, helpless relief.

"As you once said, my brother cannot rule this city by himself."

He's dressed in his customary suit and tie, not a hint of the bayou climate on him.

"So what are you exactly? His lapdog?"

His face hardens but remains polite, even amused as he plants his hands on both arms of her chair and leans down. His eyes travel over her bare legs, daring her to rebuke him. "You're angry with me."

 _I'm more than angry. You can't begin to understand how much I hate you. How much you and your depraved brother stole from me. How much I wish I had killed you both, that we were all dead by my hand._ Her mouth curves and she touches his hands. "You left so suddenly after - I missed you."

A catlike amusement covers his face. He pulls her up into his arms, a hand on her nape, kissing her hard.

* * *

The dim, blue light has the allure of a dream. They're in a club, deep in the heart of the French Quarter, accessible only to a select few, teeming with witches and vampires and even a few wolves. Curious, deadly eyes slide over her as Elijah leads her through the crowd. She's in a place of dangerous leisure, where alliances are bought and sold, favors traded, covert bonds formed. Bonnie tries to commit as much as she can to memory.

Elijah's hand slides to the small of her back, guiding her to a booth where Klaus also sits, flanked by his usual trail of adoring witches. Kol currently has a hand up one of those witch's skirts while she hangs on his every word. Both siblings glance at their older brother, then at her. Bonnie wants to cover up her arms and legs - her little black dress, her closeness to Elijah, all of which make her blush at his brothers' bald scrutiny. Kol shrugs, returning his attention to the breathless witch at his side. Klaus watches them with a certain insolent regard as they take their seats, then laughs at Elijah's hand on her knee.

She's grateful when a tray of drinks arrive, and quickly downs a shot. She needs steady nerves to make it through the night. Elijah looks at her in surprise. He's changed his usual suit jacket for a black leather one, and looks both more alert, and more relaxed.

"You should wear this more often," she tells him in his ear. Klaus' lewd chuckle reminds her nothing goes unheard among vampires. She swallows another bubble of hatred and reaches for a drink.

* * *

The song, a familiar favorite from years ago, catches her attention. This time, she asks Elijah to dance. She used to enjoy dancing in high school, though she'd done precious little of it. There was always a new crisis to forestall, a new enemy to outwit. It's no different now, really, except the enemy is a surprisingly good dancer, and his hands travel lightly along her hips, and his mouth drinks the sweat on her neck when she moves her hair aside.

* * *

She's enveloped in the darkness and in him. She can't remember how long it's been since they came home. But this is no home, this is a deep blue country overflowing with terrifying pleasure. He restrains her arms. He takes his time moving in and out of her, caressing and stroking until she cries out. He moves up her body and holds her down, so she can't look away, can't hide the violent pleasure he's giving her. Their coupling is arduous and brutal and exhilarating. Elijah grants her no reprieve. He strips her of every defense. Her body makes a traitor of her. She thinks she'll die from each successive edge of ecstasy he drags her to. It's warfare disguised as passion. Her legs are tangled around his neck as he fucks her into blissful exhaustion. Before a numberless orgasm washes over her she sees her face in his black eyes, a stranger, unknown and frightening.

* * *

He comes and goes for a few weeks. Bonnie doesn't dare seek out Marcel, nor does she send them any messages. The slightest misstep on her part while Elijah was with her, she knows, would be ruinous for everyone. Her days and nights sting with pleasures. They eat fine meals and go dancing and drink champagne. It's the kind of heedless indulgence she's never known and often dreamed of, but the world moves in the corner of her eye, reminding her what's just out of sight - the endless killing, torture and violence securing Mikaelson power over the city, serving her salted oyster on a platter bright enough to see her face in.

* * *

They're in the back of a car that glides like an eel through the streets of the Quarter. Elijah's fingers sink in and out of her. His daylight ring drags against her thigh. "Niklaus thinks you've bewitched me. He said my name three times before I heard him - you see I was preoccupied with thoughts of you. Kol asked me what your cunt tastes like. He always speaks freely, but today - I almost pulled out his tongue. I wanted to kill my own brother. Somehow you're always tied to these impulses. They brought me a prisoner for questioning, a member of Marcel's resistance. I killed him bare-handed, but it brought no relief. I wanted you there, watching me. I imagined you wiping blood from my shoes. You are a _distraction_." All of this he whispers in her ear while his fingers take her to climax. She can't tell who he wants to punish, her or himself. She doesn't want to yield to the wrenching pleasure, but her body is treasonous. She spasms into his hand, a hand that ended a life. Ended so many lives. She muffles her cry in his shoulder. His other hand comes up, sinks in her hair, holds her in a tender, terrible prison.

* * *

It's another three weeks before she manages to slip away and meet the others at the safehouse.

"He's gone to fetch Rebekah from Berlin." The Mikaelson sister had absconded - again - after a terrible fight with Klaus - as always - and the latter had finally stopped stewing in resentment and asked Elijah to coax her back.

They're seated in Marcel's study, the curtains drawn and doors locked. It's a sharp change from the little house with its windows open to the thick, teeming scents of the bayou where she's spent the past two months.

"We're almost ready to make our move," Marcel says. "Sophie and the others have a spell that can incapacitate Klaus long enough to entomb him."

"What about Elijah?" Bonnie asks, ignoring their looks of surprise. "Whatever your plan is, he'll see it coming a mile away."

Marcel leans over his desk, fingers folded together. "We have a plan for him, but we can't share it yet. Just watch for the signal. You'll know what to do."

"I don't like it," Stefan says. "We need to move now, before he suspects anything."

Sophie chimes in. "I agree. I've got a dozen witches clamoring for his blood. They want justice for their families."

"We all want justice," Marcel growls. "But Bonnie's got further than anyone ever has. Remember Sabine? Remember Gia? They were both older, more practiced, more skilled. And where are they now? At the bottom of the swamp, along with their covens," he finished, eyes flashing darkly. Sophie and Stefan fall silent. "I can't risk all that we've accomplished for revenge. That's what they expect of me. We _have_ to wait."

Bonnie bites the inside of her cheek, digs her nails into the soft flesh of her palm. The decision is made, she is to return to the city and continue with Elijah until the elusive signal is given. When Marcel and Sophie move to another room, Bonnie seizes Stefan's hand. He looks at her in alarm. She's past the point of caring how wild-eyed and hysterical she seems. She can't stand it any longer.

"Stefan, we have to do it now. I don't care what Marcel says."

He smiles painfully. "We can't defy Marcel, that would undermine everything. I'm sure it won't be longer than a few weeks-,"

"A few weeks? Elijah's lived a thousand years, a few weeks are sand under his shoes. But to me it feels much longer. It might as well be a lifetime! I'm afraid I'll have nothing left - every time I give him more, and more and more of me. To save myself, I keep losing myself. He takes it all and I still keep giving." The words pour out of her jagged and desperate. "This thing between us is inexhaustible. My day begins and ends with him. I'm like a dog. When he takes me, I have to be myself. There's no corner of my mind I can escape to, or else he'll know. He has all the time in the world to slip his fingers under my skin. I enjoy what he does to me. I cry and scream and beg for more. Maybe I'm pretending, or maybe this is who I am, someone I don't want to see in the mirror. I don't know. Please, Stefan. Don't make me go back."

She's breathing hard, her palms clammy and tears burning her eyes.

"Bonnie...," Stefan's face is ashen, his brow furrowed deep enough to belie his youthful features. He takes her hands, very gently. "Bonnie, you're so strong. Stronger than anyone I know. Even back then, you never gave up. For my sake, don't give up now. This will all be over soon. I promise you, it's going to be okay. You can do this. Come here." He tries to hug her, but she evades him. He gives her a wounded look. Bonnie stands there trembling and powerless and emptied of words, until he pats her on the shoulder and walks quietly from the room.

* * *

It's a rainy afternoon and Elijah is at the piano. He plays quietly and serenely, his face lost in a memory and a time far from this place. A smile hovers like a ghost at the corner of his mouth.

Bonnie slides on the bench beside him, watching him play. The melody is half strange, half familiar. It makes her think of ghosts, learning their language, feeling their breath on your skin, craving an absent presence. Moved by the music, she asks if he's ever thought of leaving New Orleans.

"I've left this city many times," he says. "My family has danced this dance before. We rule, we amass untold power, then it slips through our fingers. Each time, we pretend things are new. Maybe this time, Niklaus will trust his siblings. Kol will hold on to humanity. Rebekah will lay hers to rest. Maybe we'll finally have enough to satisfy us. It's a symphony we play, and each of us has a part, and we know each note brings us closer to the terrible end. And here we are, gathered again like merry little fiddlers."

Music fades into the sound of rain. Bonnie touches his hand, her eyes coaxing until he lets her have the keys. "My grandmother hated this song. She hated all holiday music, but I couldn't get enough of it. So, whenever I was 'moping' as she said, she would indulge me." She begins to play. Her fingers miss a few notes, then remember, then forget again. She is keenly aware of him watching her. _I'll be home for Christmas, where the love light gleams, I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams. If only in my dreams._

She pulls her hand away and Elijah draws her into him. Her head rests on his shoulder, not tired, but relieved, like setting down something heavy. She can't understand the strange tranquility that fills her, and doesn't try. She accepts it like a gift.

* * *

The signal is given, the plan laid. It drops out of the sky and rearranges her world. Bonnie follows every instruction down to the last detail. She moves in a fever, afraid to stop and think. She asks Elijah to take her to Claire De Lune, a small cafe at the edge of the Quarter. She wears a dress she knows he likes, simple black linen dotted with small gold daisies. His eyes glide appreciatively over her. He makes her laugh over iced coffee and her favorite mango-cream pastries. He regrets that they can't take a trip out of the city anytime soon, there's too much unrest still in his brother's kingdom. The cafe empties slowly. The sun is sinking. They step outside together, her hand tucked into his elbow. The air crackles with invisible energy from the witches waiting to deliver the blow. Bonnie smells it, feels it like electricity loosed from a live wire. All they had to do was take a few more steps and the net would descend, trapping him while she ran to freedom and the safety of her comrades. Marcel would deliver the final blow. He had shown her the white oak stake he reserved especially for her lover. She squeezes Elijah's arm.

"Maybe we should go back inside," she says.

His hand travels up her back to her nape, a familiar caress she's come to long for despite herself. "You're safe with me," he says, kissing her deeply. He holds her face like a precious thing and frowns at her distress, the helpless tears in her eyes.

"Run," she says. "Run, now."

He lingers in disbelief, still holding her in the street. Then, with a flash, he's gone. There's a roar of chaos as the hidden witches spring into action, some concealing themselves, others aiming spells after the vanished Original.

Bonnie walks in the opposite direction, under the fireworks of magic that fade and flare, like a heartbeat. When Klaus' henchmen finally descend on her, she lets them lead her away.

* * *

She's left alone in her cell for most of the night. She sleeps on the small cot surrounded by the cries of the dead and dying. They wail and moan through the long hours. She won't be killed, not right away. Klaus would want to extract as much information as possible about Marcel. She would likely be tortured. Maybe Elijah would do it himself. Through the small window above her head she hears morning stir. Bonnie stands on her cot and peers between the bars, leans her cheek into the soft butter sunlight, like a cat. She doesn't move when the cell door opens. She wants to savor the warmth on her face.

"You're free to go," the vampire says.

It's neither Elijah, nor Klaus, nor Kol. It's a high-ranking member of Klaus' personal guard she's seen at dinners and parties. She blinks stupidly at him. He taps the door, ushering her out. She walks unaccosted past the miserable cells full of defectors, traitors and failed assassins, knowing this too is a test.

* * *

She walks for the last time through the city - the salty air, the rotten magnolia perfume, the dust, the heat, the church bells, the streetcars, the sidewalks caked with bird shit, the grooves in the road, the sudden lemon trees bright with fruit. She hears the whispers. A whole cell of witches brought to heel by Klaus. Stefan, captured. Marcel and Sophie, still at large. Bonnie walks into the small house and climbs the stairs. She goes to the window, sees the bayou winking serenely between its curtains of spanish moss. She sees him in the window-glass behind her, her enemy, her lover, now her executioner, watching her undo her hair. She expected nothing less. He will see this through to the end, drain her of blood by this window and lay her somewhere to rest. He has no choice. She will die, and her ghost will hover in the corners of this room. He will see her in the glass. They have arrived here enchained and Elijah holds her by the waist she releases a long sigh, her body limp with relief. He bites into her throat. This perhaps more than any other they've shared, is a true embrace. With a slowing heart, Bonnie lifts the latch. The window falls open.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any spelling errors or word rep - I've been working like the devil to finish this fic so I could get back to my life! A couple weeks ago my ride-or-die thefudge convinced me to watch Ang Lee's decadent, devastating film "lust, caution" and it unleashed a torrent of bonlijah feels, as well as helping unlock a characterization for Elijah and a dynamic for him and Bonnie I felt satisfied and inspired by. I chose the title because I feel like, for Bonlijah, "trust" is "lust" ya know? I was also inspired by Kettly Mars' incredible novel "Savage Seasons" in writing a New Orleans under Mikaelson tyranny. I hope you all enjoyed this indulgent romp through all my emotions about Bonnie and Elijah, and that you understand why it had to end the way it did, and why such an ending actually honors their connection (I think). In any case, let me know your thoughts in the comments!


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